


Different

by InsubstantialScribblings



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Games Time, Hayffie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 14:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsubstantialScribblings/pseuds/InsubstantialScribblings
Summary: This year the Games just don't have the same flavour as usual. And that's not the only thing...





	Different

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing new, just a repost of something I previously deleted. Please note the following disclaimer which has become necessary following a reader complaint:
> 
> 'Characters in my stories may express thoughts and opinions which are not necessarily the "correct" or most socially, medically or morally acceptable ones. Neither are these necessarily my own opinions. If you are looking to be advised on any topic, that is not what I am offering.'

** DIFFERENT **

****

Haymitch exited the back of the grand house through the huge double doors at the end of the library, a brim-full glass of his favourite whisky in his hand.

The party was stupid. Of course it was. All Capitol parties were stupid - full of Panem’s most vacuous and most arrogant – and this type, the type that slotted into the gap between the end of the Games and the crowning, was generally the most stupid of all; everyone giddy with the excitement of having just seen twenty-three kids slaughtered.  Yet tonight, stupid as it still was, this party did not seem to quite fit the usual pattern.

He wasn’t sure where they were, whose house this was – he’d merely been marched here by Effie – but there didn’t seem to be any particular host. At least, Effie hadn’t introduced him to one and that was _always_ the first thing she did, before he got too drunk and because _“Manners, Haymitch!”._ The longer he was here, the more he was beginning to think that this was not a private house, but more likely one of Snow’s many official residences, and that this shindig was on the Games account. There were certainly _a lot_ of sponsors here, and that was no surprise. After this year’s Games, the officials had a ton of sucking up to do.

Haymitch had found the Games this year markedly less terrible for much the same reason Capitol citizens had found them dull.

The arena had turned out to be a frozen wasteland in which the vast majority of tributes had died quickly and quietly from the extreme cold - Haymitch’s included.

He’d never expected anything other than deaths for Twelve, of course, and had avoided getting to know this year’s unlucky pair just as he always did, but they’d actually fared a lot better than half the others. They’d stuck together and had managed to last five days, probably due to the fact they were much more accustomed to harsh weather and the lack of a warm fire than those from other, wealthier districts. Effie had let herself get pointlessly hopeful for the first time in years and had taken their deaths very hard, but Haymitch had felt almost a sense of relief for them, knowing how much worse it could have been.

They’d died quietly together at night, just slipped away as they slept, the seventeen-year-old boy and the thirteen-year-old girl he’d begrudgingly looked after like an annoying little sister he couldn’t quite bear to shake off, their arms wrapped around one another. It wasn’t such a different death from the one they might have had in Twelve in a bad winter, had they not been reaped. It would be a small comfort to the families, Haymitch had thought. They could mourn and remember their children without always seeing an image of the unspeakable violence that usually preceded a tribute’s demise.

 

If Haymitch was relieved, the gamemakers were feeling the exact opposite.  A Games without copious bloodshed and gratuitous violence was a boring Games, an unpopular Games. Haymitch had not seen the head gamemaker, Augustus Sentelo, tonight and in fact not on a single occasion since the victor had been declared. Wherever he was now, Haymitch was sure it was no place good. Tonight, it seemed to be one of the junior gamemaker staff who was firmly in the government’s pocket and Haymitch was pretty certain the victory tour would bring news of Seneca Crane’s promotion to the top spot, whether he wanted it or not.

 

Haymitch wandered around the ornate grounds for a while, savouring his drink. He’d found the good stuff in the library earlier and sneaked it out to share with Chaff, rather than make do with the sickly, colourful cocktails offered by the Avoxes. The two of them had found a few more mentors and a quiet corner for a game of poker which he had won quite resoundingly. Happily buzzing from the win and the decent amount of booze he’d put away, he’d returned to the library to browse the shelves. Most of the volumes didn’t look as though they had had their spines cracked in a very long time, and he’d spent a pleasant couple of hours browsing texts that _most_ _definitely_ appeared on the index of forbidden literature.

He’d been to plenty worse parties. He’d been to plenty worse Games.

He couldn’t deny that Effie had also been part of the reason for it all being more bearable this time around.

They’d been fucking for years of course, mostly rough, frantic encounters preceded by an argument, but the dynamic between them seemed to have subtly shifted this year.

They’d been on their usual form until the night their tributes died and normally that would be the one time Haymitch could _guarantee_ they would both deliberately rile each other up, looking for an excuse to release the frustration those pointless deaths always caused them. This year had been different. Effie had been so upset, so very sad.

She’d rather liked this year’s pair, had engaged well with them, despite his warnings for her to not get involved. The boy in particular had seemed a decent sort – he was well-spoken with nice manners, a respectful air and a sort of quiet dignity about him – and she’d tried so hard with coaching him for his interviews. She hadn’t sought Haymitch out when the deaths had been confirmed, the way she usually did in full banshee mode, screaming at him for his lack of mentoring effort, as though it would truly have made a difference, and he’d pondered her absence for quite some time before seeking her out.

He’d found her in her room in the penthouse, laying still and unblinking on her bed. He’d been shocked at first – her wig had been discarded and her garish outfit and make-up removed, and she’d looked smaller somehow and intensely vulnerable, lying there in her robe, her bright blonde hair (he’d never have guessed at that colouring) spread out in a gleaming curtain around her. Her face had been tear-stained, but _fuck_ , was she ever beautiful with all that crap off her face.

He hadn’t known what to say, had toyed with the idea of leaving again and pretending he’d never seen her, but she’d sat up and extended an arm to him. He’d gone to sit beside her and she’d turned to him, no doubt anticipating his speech about how he’d warned her not to get attached, not to get her hopes up. _“Don’t say it,”_ she’d whispered and then collapsed into him, arms around his neck, her body wracked with sobs she muffled against his shoulder.

He’d sat stiffly at first, not pushing her away, but making no move to touch her either until he just couldn’t bear the awkwardness any longer and embraced her, reassuringly patting and rubbing her back.

The sobbing had subsided after a while, but she’d made no move to extricate herself from his arms and eventually she’d begun to move her hands, stroking his own back, moving down to his thighs and then on to his torso, slipping her palms beneath his shirt. He’d pulled back slightly, a questioning look in his eyes which she’d chosen to ignore, leaning in to peck his lips softly, slowly. He’d been too surprised by the mood of the whole thing to pull away and, encouraged by this, she’d deepened the kiss and, before he knew it, his shirt was off and he was running his fingers through that beautiful hair and kissing her back with complete abandon.

She’d removed her robe and the rest of his clothes and they’d spent the longest time exploring every inch of each other’s body in a way they’d never really done before. The sex, when it eventually happened, was somehow both intense and relaxed at the same time and completely different from anything Haymitch had ever experienced before. He was well aware she’d used him for comfort, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter. She’d clung to him when he’d moved to leave and asked him to remain, just until she fell asleep. He’d felt it would be crossing a line to stay and yet for some reason he’d done it anyway, probably confused by how very human, how very breakable, she looked with the Capitol washed from her.

He hadn’t just stayed until she’d fallen asleep. He’d stayed for hours after that, secretly stroking the perfect skin of her bare cheek and those stunning blonde locks – not that he’d ever tell her that. He’d left before sleep could take him too, having no wish to put her in danger from his inevitable nightmares and disturbed by the thought of what spending the night in her bed might mean, what _she_ might believe it to mean.

Nevertheless, that evening had seemed to mark the start of something different between them. There was something about having finally seen beneath Effie’s perfectly constructed mask that intrigued him, that seemed to draw him to her, to make him want to find out more about the real Effie Trinket.

With the Games over and fewer demands on their time, they’d spent the better part of the past week in bed, seemingly unable to keep their hands or their lips off each other, experimenting and _discovering_. Sometimes it was fast and frantic, the way they’d been used to for so long, at others it was a more sensual, drawn-out affair. Effie had _a lot_ of ideas, some of which he liked a lot more than others, and it was proving to be quite an education for Haymitch. They’d talked more than they ever had before too and he’d realised he was gradually getting to know her better, had even given away some small bits of information about himself. She still wound him up like crazy and he still delighted in doing the same to her and they bickered and disagreed just as much as they always had but, nonetheless, Haymitch was trying hard not to admit to himself that it had been one of the best weeks of his whole adult life.

 

The sudden sound of Capitol voices in the garden raised his guard and, having no wish to be forced into polite conversation, he sank back into the shadows to avoid detection. A group of brightly attired and extravagantly coiffured figures, three women and two men, hove into view, twittering excitedly in those headache-inducing accents.

“Effie, darling! Horatio! Do come join us!” called one of the women and Haymitch’s ears pricked up at the sound of his escort’s name.

He’d barely seen her since they’d arrived, but that wasn’t unexpected. That was the way it was at these events: he found a quiet corner and a steady supply of alcohol whilst she played the social butterfly, flitting between the influential people, bestowing compliments and using her charm to curry favour. He wasn’t sure why she still bothered. No-one would ever be persuaded to sponsor Twelve and there was no hope of her ever being promoted to a better district – she was far too good at handling him for the gamemakers to cut her loose.

He watched from his hiding place as she appeared around the corner of the building to join her friends on the terrace. She was wearing a silver wig and a shiny monstrosity of a dress in vibrant purple and shocking pink that had put him instantly in mind of the wrappings inside a box of chocolates – a thought he’d generously shared with her as they’d left the Training Centre – but she was positively conservative in comparison to her current companion.

The man she’d turned the corner with, and whose arm was entwined with her own, was sporting a dazzling suit in multiple shades of blue, his face extensively made-up with heavy use of coal-black eyeliner. His hair, dyed an electric shade of cobalt, had been styled to stand up in a stiff crest on top of his head and was utterly ridiculous. He looked like an exotic bird and not in a good way.

Haymitch watched as the seven Capitols went through their greeting routine: air kisses and pretend hugs and much simpering over how wonderful it was to see each other, how amazing they looked. The fakery of the whole pantomime made Haymitch want to puke – he knew for a fact that Effie hated two of those women with a passion – and he glared at the little party in annoyance. He was stuck now, unable to continue his stroll in the grounds without being seen, and he had no desire to be drawn into their pointless chatter.

For want of anything better to do, he watched them as he sipped his drink, noticing how the bird-man slipped his arm around Effie, stroking her tiny waist as they all exchanged pleasantries. He didn’t like that. Why did he think it was acceptable for him to put his hands (wings?) all over his escort? Men always did that. She was a well-known and popular figure here and there seemed to be an unspoken assumption among too many Capitols that Games staff were public property. He waited for Effie’s inevitable escape from his clutches. She was an expert at that, knew a hundred different ways to avoid unwanted touches without causing offence or making a scene. It was almost an art form.

But something was wrong here. Effie seemed inclined to let the man’s hand linger and Haymitch supposed he must be terribly influential for her to allow it, but when it slipped down lower, caressing her perfect ass out of sight of their companions, he grinned to himself, amused to see what diversionary tactic she’d employ tonight to get out of _that_ one.

He waited for her to make her move. And waited.

The realisation that she wasn’t going to act, that she didn’t mind the attention, was surprisingly unpleasant. Haymitch’s mind raced back to that very afternoon when his own hand had been in that same place, only without the horrible dress to cover it, his groin inadvertently twitching as he remembered the noises she’d been making as he’d touched her. Something hot and horrible rolled in his gut as he watched that other hand in the same place, trying to banish a graphic image, with which his brain seemed determined to supply him, of the bird-man and Effie naked together.

“Trinket!”

Haymitch lurched forward, deliberately making himself look far more inebriated than he really was.

“Why, good evening, Haymitch,” returned Effie with surprise as she turned around. Her voice was uncharacteristically hesitant and he knew she was confused that he had willingly approached her little group and more than a little concerned that he intended to make a drunken scene. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Oh _, immensely_ ,” he replied, his sarcastic tone going over the heads of all the Capitols, bar her. “It’s simply _fabulous_! Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

 

“Of course!” said Effie brightly, effectively covering her astonishment at the request. “Everyone, I am pleased to present Haymitch Abernathy, Quell Victor and mentor to District Twelve, as you all know. Haymitch – I believe you are already acquainted with Andromeda and Venus – and I am pleased to introduce Caliope, Cassius and Felix.” She seemed to hesitate for a split second before adding “And Horatio.”

Haymitch shook each proffered hand in turn, leaving the bird-man until last and shaking that particular hand rather too hard and for rather too long. The longer it stayed off Effie’s backside the better, he thought to himself.

“Well don’t let us keep you, Haymitch,” said Effie eventually in a falsely sweet tone. “I’m sure you have no desire to be bored by our talk of next month’s upcoming fashion exhibition. I believe some of the other victors were looking for you in the banqueting hall.”

“Right,” said Haymitch, unable to think of any reason to linger any further. “We’ll be going soon though, yeah? We’ve got that thing tomorrow morning.”

“What thing?” said Effie, panic spreading across her face at the thought she’d overlooked something on the schedule.

“Can’t remember,” he responded. “Something though. Sure it was you that told me about it.”

She hesitated. “I’ve left everything back at the penthouse. I’ll need to check when we get in. There are some more people I simply must see tonight, but… I’ll find you in an hour or so, all right?

“Fine,” said Haymitch and, finding no reason to stay any longer, he sloped off into the gardens with an affected air of nonchalance, deliberately omitting to go through the prescribed etiquette of leave-taking. She’d bawl him out over that later, he was certain of it.

He wandered the long way around the grounds, back to the banqueting hall, and re-joined the other victors, but his earlier good mood seemed to have deserted him. Over the next hour he found himself almost subconsciously seeking Effie out in various rooms around the mansion. The bird-man never left her side. Haymitch watched, unimpressed, as he fed her the tiny bitesize cakes from the banquet table, directly from his fingers to her mouth, Effie giggling coquettishly. He seethed quietly at the edge of the ballroom as he watched the colourful pair dance, the blue-suited arms tight around her, hands straying in a way that definitely didn’t fit Effie’s usual idea of propriety. He stood with a clenched jaw, observing as Effie schmoozed various sponsors with that damned man’s hand never leaving her waist.

 

By the time Effie appeared at his side after the agreed hour, punctual as ever and with her stupid companion still in tow, he was thoroughly fed up.

“I’ve ordered the car,” she told him. “It’s waiting at the front of the house.”

“Great,” he answered gruffly. “Let’s go.”

Effie cast a hesitant glance towards the Capitol at her side. “Why don’t you go on ahead? I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Why don’t we both just go now?” retorted Haymitch. “I’m not waiting in the car while you spend an age excusing yourself from the world and his wife.”

“I’ve said my farewells,” replied Effie. “You go on and I’ll just say goodbye to Horatio.”

“He’s right there,” stated Haymitch, taking Effie’s free arm. “Horatio, Effie says goodbye. There, that’s done. Let’s go.”

Bird-man looked stunned for a second but recovered himself quickly. “I can see you have your hands full, Effie,” he said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” With that, he leant forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek, accompanied by a long sigh of impatient annoyance from Haymitch.

 

“That was incredibly rude,” said Effie as they crunched along the gravel to the driveway. “What _has_ got into you tonight? You were in a good mood when we arrived. You seemed to be having a good time earlier.”

“Yeah, well I’m not now,” he snapped. “You know I hate these things.”

“Very well,” said Effie as they settled into the limousine and it purred away into the night. “You have your little sulk like a five-year-old and I’ll try to remember what engagement we have in the morning.” She frowned and shook her head a little. “It’s not like me to forget.”

They rode back to the Training Centre in silence after that, Haymitch consumed by the intense irritation he was feeling at the way the evening had turned out, Effie distracted and wracking her brains for details of the elusive appointment. She made for her room as soon as the elevator opened at the penthouse, no doubt rushing straight for her desk and the precious folders it contained while Haymitch sauntered into the lounge, pouring himself a drink from the bar.

She was back in two minutes.

“There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. We’re free the entire morning, just as I thought!”

Haymitch shrugged. “My mistake.”

Effie narrowed her eyes. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Haymitch shrugged again and took a long sip of his drink. “Thought you’d be grateful. Thought you’d want to get out of there.”

“Why on Earth would I have wanted that?” she demanded. “That was one of the most sumptuous parties of the whole Games: full of important people _, sponsors_ , exquisite food, the most talented orchestra in all Panem. Why would I have wanted to leave?”

“Thought you might have been uncomfortable. Because of that guy.”

“Which guy?” she demanded, a look of puzzlement on her face.

“Oh, come off it! You know full well which guy! The one in the bluejay costume! Fellatio or something.”

“His name is _Horatio_ ,” clarified Effie, “as you are well aware.”

“Whatever his stupid name is, his hands were all over you the whole evening! I’m surprised at you, Sweetheart. You don’t normally put up with that sleezy shit from anyone. He must have some amazing kind of connections.”

Effie’s expression was one of annoyance, but there was also a certain pleased sparkle in her eyes. “So, you were watching me all evening?”

“No,” said Haymitch firmly. “Was just trying to keep an eye out for you when I saw how handsy he was. Pervert. He Snow’s godson or something?”

“Horatio _is_ extremely well connected, that is true,” replied Effie. “But he certainly isn’t a pervert. And he isn’t handsy.” She paused for split second. “He is my boyfriend.”

Haymitch felt betrayed by his face as he felt the colour drain from it and he prayed she wouldn’t notice. “Boyfriend. You never said.”

“I didn’t think I needed to. You have always been _extremely_ clear that _this_ …” she gestured into the air between them with one hand, “…is _not_ a relationship, that there is no presumption of exclusivity. I don’t see you for at least 10 months of the year, Haymitch. My life here goes on. I still need to work the scene.” That same hesitance from a moment ago crept into her voice again and she seemed to be weighing up whether or not to continue. “And it gets lonely sometimes,” she added eventually.

“You can do better than some freak who dresses like the wildlife,” he mumbled. “Shouldn’t be indulging creeps like that.”

“I honestly can’t see why you would care what I do,” she answered carefully. “It’s no different from whatever you indulge in back in Twelve. I don’t quiz you about that.”

“I don’t touch anyone from Twelve,” said Haymitch, staring down at his drink. “Never have. Not since my Games anyway.”

Effie looked incredulous. “Never?”

“Never,” he confirmed, looking her right in the eye.

“Why not?” she pressed. “You could have anyone you wanted there, surely? I know District Twelve is rough around the edges to say the least, but I’ve officiated at enough reapings to know there are some real beauties under all that coal dust.”

“Don’t agree with prostitution,” he mumbled. “Been on the other end of it myself too many times for that.”

Effie winced slightly at the reference to those years as a younger victor, when he’d been forced to participate in that particular government arrangement. “But you’re Twelve’s only victor. You’re surely not telling me you’d have to pay for it.”

“Not with money, no,” said Haymitch. “But in kind. I’m a drunk, Effie. And a bad-tempered one at that. I haven’t got anything to offer except a warm house and enough food to eat, but that’s the most anyone hopes for in Twelve. I can’t blame those women, I know what the struggle to survive the conditions in the Seam is like, but I never want anyone to go with me for that reason. Besides, I don’t want to risk being connected with anyone. I’m not painting a target for Snow to take aim at on my back or anyone else’s. Not after all these years.”

Effie was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment and she opened and closed her mouth several times, never quite daring to say what was on her mind.

“Just spit it out,” said Haymitch eventually, feeling decidedly uncomfortable about just how much of his thoughts he was revealing.

“You risk being connected to me,” she said quietly.

“That’s different.”

Effie obviously wanted to ask more but thought better of it. She was good that way. She’d rile him up about the smallest of things and take pleasure in doing it, but she always knew when to back off when it really counted.

“You haven’t been with anyone else in the Capitol this season either,” she observed.

“Haven’t been with anyone here for more than five years,” he returned. “Had enough of that when I was part of Snow’s jolly bordello of victors.”

“You’ve been with me,” she pointed out. “A lot.”

“That’s different. _You’re_ different.”

Effie didn’t press him any further, but he still noticed the tiny involuntary hint of a smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“I thought Horatio’s connections could be helpful,” said Effie after a moment of awkward silence. “We were introduced over the winter and there didn’t seem any harm in it. He was nice to me. Took me to the best restaurants, bought me jewellery. And I met a lot of new sponsors through him. I thought things might be different for Twelve this year.” She sighed. “It’s nice to have someone sometimes. But I don’t think it will be long term.”

“Why ever not?” sneered Haymitch. “He sounds like just your type. Well connected, buys you sparkly shit, got the fancy manners, the right _breeding_. Mummy and Daddy would approve. What’s the problem? He got a tiny dick or something?”

“Do you _have_ to be so crude?” exclaimed Effie, but Haymitch knew he had touched a nerve and he grinned.

“He _has_ , hasn’t he?” he crowed. “Should have known! Birds don’t have penises.”

Effie was flustered. “It’s _not_ tiny. Perfectly average in my experience. Years ago, I would have been quite happy.”

“So, what changed?” goaded Haymitch.

“You’re determined to make me say it, aren’t you? You know perfectly well.”

“I don’t,” said Haymitch innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Effie huffed. “Fine. I’ll say it, will that make you happy? His size is perfectly adequate, but I am used to you. I am used to _your_ size and how you use it and, as infuriating as I might find it, that is what I need for a good time now. He’s… enthusiastic, he has the stamina, but it’s just… not as good. Does that satisfy you?”

“Clearly it doesn’t satisfy _you_ ,” teased Haymitch, feeling smug and unable to resist the jibe.

“Oh, you are insufferable!” spat Effie as she got to her feet. “I’m going to bed. I should never have told you.”

Haymitch grabbed her arm as she tried to leave. “Don’t go, Sweetheart. I was only teasing.” He stood up. “Have a drink with me. Look, I’ll even mix it for you. What’s your poison?”

She didn’t hesitate. “ _You_ are, clearly. I’ll have a gin. The one with juniper berries. And elderflower tonic.”

She sat back down as Haymitch moved to the bar area to mix her drink. “Guess he was pretty pissed off that you came back here tonight,” he said as he selected the right bottles.

“It was expected. He knows I am obliged to spend my nights at the Training Centre the whole time the Games are in session. I haven’t slept with him since before I came to Twelve for the reaping. He knows what dating an escort involves.”

“ _Obliged_.” Haymitch spoke the word as though it were a new and unwelcome food in his mouth.

“Don’t be like that,” said Effie.

“I’m not being like anything,” he replied as he handed her the drink. “I’m sorry to be such an imposition. But you take your job very seriously. You were ‘ _obliged_ ’ four times last night, as I recall.”

“You are absolutely impossible!” huffed Effie, hitting him on the shoulder with one of the sofa cushions, “I don’t know why I put up with you!”

“Because I’m different,” stated Haymitch.

“You’ve said that word a lot this evening.” Effie looked thoughtful. She cocked her head to one side. “When were you last tested?”

“Tested?”

“Screened. For sexual diseases.”

“End of the last season I was part of Snow’s victor-for-hire scheme. Compulsory testing at the beginning and end of every stay in the Capitol. Can’t have those wealthy perverts getting sick now, can we?”

“And I’m the only person you’ve slept with since then?”

“Yes.”

“I was tested when we got back to the Capitol with the tributes. It’s mandatory for all escorts too. I don’t suppose you knew that. I tested clean, of course.”

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Haymitch in some confusion.

“How would you like to try something else _different_? Since it seems it’s the night for that word.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“No condoms,” she replied fixing him with a serious gaze. “I have a contraceptive implant so there’s no risk of pregnancy, and since we are both clean…”

Haymitch stared back at her for a long moment.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to,” she back-tracked. “I know you don’t trust Capitols.”

“I trust _you_.” The words were out before he’d even known he was going to say them.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. You’re…”

“ _Different_?” she suggested.

“Yeah. You’re different all right. Why now?”

“I’m just curious,” she admitted. “The way you feel inside me. I just have a hunch it would feel even better with nothing between us. Don’t you?”

Haymitch felt himself begin to stir inside his pants at her words. “Don’t know. Never done it without. Not even once.”

“Oh, darling,” she purred and Haymitch was so turned on by the husky drawl of her tone that he was able to put that term of endearment and all it implied out of his mind. “You are in for a real treat.”

 

**xXxXxXx**

“So?” said Effie some hours later, as Haymitch basked in a sweaty, hazy glow, with her draped over his torso. “What did you think?”

Haymitch wasn’t sure he was capable of thinking anything just yet, let alone putting it into words.

She’d been right, of course. Effie was always right when it came to sex. Sliding inside of her without that thin layer of latex covering him surely shouldn’t have been that different, but it absolutely was. Her body had seemed to mould itself that vital bit more perfectly to his, heightening the sensations to an explosive new level. Spilling himself directly inside her, leaving his mark unseen but deep within her body, had awoken an intense primitive and addictive satisfaction in him that he’d never known existed before. Over the course of the next few hours, his first encounter without a condom had become his second and then his third.  He didn’t need to ask Effie how _she’d_ found it. Her cries had been louder and more desperate than he’d ever heard her before and as for the strength of her orgasms as he’d felt her clench around him…

“We’re never using condoms again, right? If you get tested at the start of the season?”

Effie pushed herself up a little, her blonde locks brushing against his chest. She’d never said a word about him seeing her without her wig, but she must have sensed that first time how much he liked it because she’d never once since tried to stop him when he moved to take it off her when they were alone.

“Fine by me,” she replied. “Though I think that will only be a formality. I will talk to Horatio tomorrow. Explain that the relationship isn’t working for me.”

“Good,” said Haymitch. “You can do better than that bird brain.”

“Possibly,” murmured Effie, laying back down, her head on his shoulder. She smiled as his fingers found her hair. “But that wasn’t really what I was thinking. I think I’m going to give dating a rest this year.”

“Don’t go depriving yourself on my account,” said Haymitch warily, a distinctly awkward feeling running through him as he realised how relieved he’d felt as she’d spoken those words. “This ain’t a relationship.”

“Of course not,” scoffed Effie. “Heaven forbid. But it is _something_. It is…”

They avoided looking at each other as they both spoke the word in synchrony.

“Different.”


End file.
